The Game
by kbrand5333
Summary: It was a game that Guinevere started quite by accident.
1. The Cottage

"Guinevere?" Arthur enters the royal chambers, looking for his wife. _Where is she? I actually had something to talk to her about_… He walks towards the sleeping quarters. "Love?" he asks. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking around.

His eyes land on the bed. Right in the center is one of Gwen's white linen handkerchiefs; identical to the one she gifted him back at her house. Unconsciously his hand drifts to his chest, his hand resting against his waistcoat, feeling the familiar lump where an identical piece of cloth is folded neatly into its usual resting place in an inside pocket.

_What is that doing there? Did she drop it? It's so perfectly placed._ He frowns at it. _Why am I worrying so much about this, anyway? Because I don't know where she is, that's why._

_Is this a hint? Did she leave this here on purpose?_ "Hmm." _What kind of hint is this?_

"Hmm," he repeats, turning and striding purposefully from the room, grabbing his long blue cloak hanging on a peg before he exits.

xXx

"Where is it?" Gwen frets to herself, looking underneath the few pieces of furniture left in her old house. It has been standing, empty and uninhabited, in the lower town since she was banished. Ironically, it was one of the few buildings that survived Agravaine's arson.

_I wonder how much the fact that this was my house plays into it still being empty,_ Gwen absently wonders. _I guess moving into the house that belonged to the woman who is now their queen might be seen as disrespectful. Now. Where is that damn comb?_

It is a hair comb that belonged to her mother. When her meager belongings were moved to the castle, it was done so hurriedly and amidst the rebuilding that she wasn't able to properly oversee the work. And now she can't find the precious item that is one of her few reminders of her mother.

Arthur approaches Guinevere's old house and peeks through the window. She is standing in the middle of the one room, her back to the door. He can't make out what she is doing.

Silently he opens the door and creeps inside, closing it just as silently behind him. A devilish grin creeps across his face, and he grabs the edges of his cloak and raises his arms. He brings them down and around his wife's body, making her jump. A short scream of alarm escapes her lips before she realizes to whom the familiar arms and cloak belong.

He bends down, the hood falling over both their heads as he kisses her cheek and neck, sucking lightly at the sweetness of her skin.

"Arthur," she whispers, "you scared me half out of my mind."

_As if you weren't expecting me,_ he thinks as he continues his nibbling on her ear, his arms holding her waist.

"Show yourself if you value your life," a voice says behind Arthur. "This is a private residence and you are trespassing."

Arthur straightens up – carefully, as he can feel the point of a sword pressed lightly but menacingly against his shoulder blade.

"Elyan," Arthur sighs, raising a hand to remove his hood, revealing not only himself but Gwen as well.

Elyan immediately lowers his sword and stammers, "Oh… I… Forgive me, Sire, I… I didn't know… I heard a scream, and…"

Gwen laughs openly at her brother. "You are just doing your job, Elyan. Now go back outside and continue to do so," she smirks at him.

"Um… yes. I'll do that. Uh, carry on," Elyan says awkwardly as he backs out of the door.

"What are you doing here?" Gwen asks Arthur, now that the mood has been interrupted.

He smirks at her. "I got the little hint you left me," he says, removing his cloak.

"What hint?"

_Oh. Guess not._ "The handkerchief on the bed wasn't a hint to meet you here?" he furrows his brow and reaches for her hand.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, because it looked just like the one you gave me a hundred years ago, and the way it seemed so deliberately _placed_ in the center of our bed, and…"

She smiles at his sweetness. "A hundred years ago?"

"Okay, maybe it wasn't that many."

"I'm looking for my mother's silver hair comb. I can't find it anywhere. I _thought_ it was inside that handkerchief, but when I went to look for it, it wasn't there," she says, the worry coming back in her voice. "I don't have much of my mother, and that was a gift from my father to her for their wedding, and…"

"I know where it is," Arthur says quietly, pulling her into his arms.

"You do?"

"I sent it to the silversmith to get cleaned." He tips his head down and kisses her. "It was almost completely black with tarnish," he pauses again, kissing her temple. "I had intended it to be a surprise."

"Oh," she says, her fingers tracing the edges of the vee in the neck of his red shirt.

"I… I didn't realize that it was your mother's. I'm sorry if I worried you," he kisses her again, longer this time.

"Arthur…" she manages, a gasp spoken against his lips.

"Guinevere," he says softly, "we are completely alone. No one knows we're here," he kisses her again, "except Elyan, and I don't think he's going to be saying anything." He kisses her neck. "We should take," he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, "advantage of the situation."

With that, he lifts her and sets her on the table, nestling between her knees amongst the skirts of her dress. He leans in and reclaims her lips that automatically and immediately part for him, her tongue meeting his, her hands in his hair and at his neck.

Arthur's hand comes up to her breast, squeezing it lightly, thumb grazing the soft exposed flesh above her bodice, and she arches into him.

His other hand starts pulling at her skirts, raising them so he can reach underneath.

"Arthur," she says as his lips travel down her graceful neck, "we shouldn't. Not here."

"You're right," he says against her neck, yet his hands do not stop.

"_Arthur,_" she drops her hand to stop the one that is now caressing her thigh. "It's the… middle of the day," she leans her head back as he kisses her breasts, "and there are people… right outside."

"So?" he bites her neck softly, teasing.

"_So,_" she takes a deep breath, takes his face in her hands, and looks into his eyes, glazed-over with desire. "So people don't need to be _hearing_ us in here." She leans over and kisses him. Briefly.

"Very well," he says, defeated, leaning his head on her shoulder, frustrated. "Good thing I have my cloak," he chuckles, adjusting his trousers.


	2. The Picnic

_Has he lost his mind?_ Guinevere is staring at a gold plate in the middle of their bed. She knows what it means. Well, she has a fairly good idea, anyway.

_He thinks I left him a hint last week this way. So now he decides he's going to actually leave me a hint._ She picks up the plate. _So obvious,_ she smiles, amused.

_Now. Do I torture him and make him wait awhile?_

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts. "Yes?" she calls.

The door opens and Merlin pokes his head in. "Gwen?"

"Hello, Merlin," she answers him, tossing the plate back on the bed and walking over.

"Where's Arthur?"

"He's… out."

His brow furrows, confused. "He told me to meet him up here just before lunch."

_Obvious and sneaky as well, I see._

She sighs. "I think I know why," she says, grabbing him by the elbow and leading him out towards the stables.

They reach the spot by the stream to find Arthur waiting with a picnic. This time he is careful not to be caught preening into a plate.

Merlin helps Gwen dismount from her horse and tethers it beside Arthur's. "I'm going home now," he says, not even waiting to be dismissed. He mounts his horse and turns back to Camelot. Once out of sight, he redirects his horse.

Arthur assists Gwen across the stream. "And this time we won't be interrupted," he grins, leading her to the blanket.

"Not unless Elyan is on patrol of the forest," she jokes as he feeds her a grape.

"Elyan is assisting Leon with training of some of the new recruits," he grins.

She lounges on some pillows, slipping off her shoes while he fixes their plates.

"So… did you find my hint before Merlin came in?" he asks, handing her a plate.

"Yes," she chuckles.

"And you understood it?"

"Yes. And you've gone quite mad, I think."

"I have not!" he protests, but he is laughing. "To be honest, I've been wanting to make this picnic up to you for a long time now. We were having such a good time until…"

Gwen puts her fingers to his lips. "We don't need to relive the details. We both know what happened. It's done, it worked out in the end. So shut up and eat."

He kisses her fingers before she removes them from his lips. "Do you still dream of running away to be a farmer?" she asks, picking up a piece of chicken.

"You remembered that?" he laughs.

"I remember everything we talked about that day."

He smiles at her. "The only thing I dream about these days is being with you, Guinevere," he says. "If I were to dream of running away to be a farmer, you'd be with me."

She blushes and looks down with a small smile.

A short distance away, Merlin has half-completed the circle he is making around them.

They eat quietly for a few minutes. "So… you sent Merlin for me why, exactly?"

"To make sure you got here. I wasn't sure if you would remember how to get here. And I also didn't know if I was obvious enough," he grins.

"Arthur, love, subtlety has never really been your strong suit. But you're right, I don't know that I could have found my way here."

He smirks at her first comment. "I know you don't like being in the forest alone," he says, taking her hand in his and stroking the back of it with his thumb.

She sets her plate aside and scoots closer to him. He does the same, and they lean back against the pillows he's brought, Gwen in his arms this time instead of chastely apart.

Arthur makes a contented noise in the back of his throat as he gives her an affectionate squeeze.

"Happy?" Gwen asks.

"Yes. I love being with you, especially away from everything. No one needing me to make any decisions. No one running to me with their problems. No one needing orders or instruction. Just you and me."

She looks up at him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. _He knows he doesn't have to be anything for me._ "I love you, Arthur. And I love it when you are relaxed. I love—"

He stops her words with his lips, taking her by surprise. He presses her back onto the pillows, rolling them so he is over her, kissing her passionately.

_Not wasting any time this time,_ Gwen absently thinks as she runs her fingers through his hair, returning his kiss, feeling the familiar warmth he always creates within her start to spread through her body.

Arthur slides his hand up her bodice, feeling her curves, reaching around to pull at her laces.

"Arthur…" she gasps.

"No one is out here," he says into her neck. "I'm… just loosening it anyway."

Gwen turns her head and gently bites his ear as he kisses her neck, any protest effectively forgotten.

Merlin completes his circle and heads back to Camelot, secure in the knowledge that the king and queen will truly not be disturbed this time.

She feels her bodice loosen and a shoulder is exposed as Arthur pulls it down, trailing kisses over the new inches of skin he's uncovered.

"Arthur," she says. Something has just occurred to her. "Was there really…"

"Hmm?" he asks, lips making their way to her breasts as he works the top of her dress down to get at least one of them free.

"Was there really a wasp?"

He pauses and looks up at her. "Yes," he says, but his eyes shift away.

She hooks a leg around his. "Really?"

"No," he says sheepishly, dropping his head back down, right into her cleavage.

Gwen laughs and pulls his face back up to hers. "I had a suspicion," she kisses him leisurely. "You didn't have to go to all the trouble, you know."

She runs her hands down his back, and her deft fingers on him make him tingle all over, even though the thin barrier of his shirt.

He presses back into her, and she can feel his hardness against her thigh. _Should we? What if someone should stumble upon us? He seems completely unconcerned._

"Guinevere," he caresses her name with his lips and all restraint is forgotten as her hands move again, this time to the laces of his trousers.

Arthur's skillful lips travel the ridge of her collarbone, working lower, nudging her dress further down, successfully exposing a breast to his hungry attention. He closes his lips around a taut nipple, his tongue swirling around it, tasting it, caressing it. Gwen sighs and delves her hand into Arthur's opened trousers, finding his hardness within, sliding her hand along his length a few times before closing her strong slender fingers around his shaft.

He groans into her breasts at her touch and he continues lavishing attention on them as he reaches down to lift her skirts. He bunches them in his hand, tugging gently but firmly. Finally he tears his lips away from her with a muffled curse, sits back and moves so he isn't on her dress any more and yanks the skirts up.

Gwen chuckles at his frustration, pulling him back down over her, bringing his lips to hers for a kiss. She thrusts her tongue deep into his mouth, tasting hints of the wine on his tongue as she explores the familiar warmth. Reaching back down for him, she guides him close to the apex of her thighs, and he drops his hips in anticipation.

Arthur sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, savoring it a moment as he presses forward with his manhood. Gwen smiles slyly, her hand still on him, and she redirects the head of his manhood, sliding it along the length of her moist folds.

He grunts, the sensation combined with the realization that she is using him to touch herself quickening his pulse. "Guinevere…" he groans into her neck.

She sighs deliciously, arching her back slightly as she continues her actions. Arthur takes charge again, waiting for the right moment, then thrusting forward, burying himself deep within her. Gwen pulls her hand away just in time with a giggle that quickly becomes a gasp.

Arthur buries his face into the curve of her neck, biting it lightly, careful not to leave a mark. He kisses the spot and leans back, pressing into her, shoving at her skirts impatiently, moving them out of his way.

Gwen stills his hands, gathering the material, collecting them neatly if a little clumsily across her stomach, no simple feat given her current distracted state. She moans low and soft, and moves her hands to his stomach, slipping them up under his shirt to feel his skin and muscles beneath the white linen.

He drives a little faster, deeper yet, and she spreads her legs wider, giving him more access. "Oh…" he manages, bending over her again to capture her lips in a swift but passionate kiss.

She wraps her arms around his torso, still beneath his shirt, holding him closer, her fingers digging into his muscled back. He can feel her fingernails against his skin like wonderful pinpricks, a sensation to which he's grown accustomed. And rather likes.

Gwen is whimpering now, her strong small body writhing beneath him as she nears her peak, her skin flushed and glowing. Arthur feels a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he increases his efforts, faster, harder, carrying them both over the edge of the cliff into the roaring sea.

She gasps, high and sharp; he groans, strangled and hoarse. He drops gently over her and their bodies still, his head on her shoulder, still sheathed within her.

"Just so you know," Arthur says, once his breathing has calmed, "I wouldn't have gone this far on that first picnic, had we not been interrupted."

"I know," she says, her fingers toying with his hair. "But if you had tried, I probably would have let you."


	3. The Tent

"Merlin, please make sure that the knight's quarters and the guest rooms are all tended and prepared for our guests. The tournament starts tomorrow, you know," Arthur says as the two men walk the corridors of the castle towards Arthur's chambers.

"Yes, Arthur, I know. I wrote and sent out the announcements, remember?" Merlin says testily, opening the door, allowing Arthur to enter before him.

"Yes, yes," Arthur waves his hand absently, looking down at some parchments he'd left on the table. _Ugh. Still don't want to deal with these._

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Arthur, Gwen does want your approval on the menu for the tournament. And also for the squires that we are loaning out."

"I'm sure whatever she's got arranged is fine," he says, leaning back, stretching.

"Okay, just sign these, then, to make it all official, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Why do I have to sign something?"

"Because it's a tournament. Everything has to be documented."

He growls in irritation and scribbles his name at the bottom of two sheets and shoves them at his former-servant-now-advisor-and-assistant. "You do the seal, I don't feel like messing with that right now."

Merlin takes the parchments and leaves, smiling, wondering when Arthur will make the discovery he already spotted.

_Where is Guinevere, anyway?_ Arthur wonders, wandering to a window and opening it, peering out into the courtyard below. He can see the bustle of activity caused by the kingdom preparing for a tournament. He can see knights returning from patrol; knights heading out on patrol. He doesn't see the queen.

Stretching again, he strolls to the other side of the royal chambers, and then he sees it.

A gauntlet. In the center of the bed.

"That minx," he says aloud, grinning. _This is definitely what I think it is._ He retrieves the gauntlet and sweeps from the room, heading for the arena.

Arthur surveys the sea of tents, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. Here and there servants and pages and squires walk, setting things in place, bringing supplies. He spies the largest tent in the center and strides purposefully towards it.

He peeks through the tent flaps, just to make sure she is, in fact, inside. She is. _I don't know why I was worried. It's not like I have no reason to be out here. I'm the king. I can be wherever I want._

Pulling the flap aside fully, he saunters into the tent, waving the gauntlet casually in front of him.

Guinevere is lounging in a chair inside, waiting. She waves at him, wearing the other gauntlet. It reaches almost to her elbow. "Hi."

He raises his eyebrows. "'Hi?'" he quotes back at her, smirking. "You're getting… brave, little wife."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asks innocently, pulling the gauntlet off her hand and dropping it casually but pointedly to the ground.

Arthur watches it fall and takes a step forward. "Weren't you the same woman who, two weeks ago, was concerned about being heard when we were in your house?"

"Do you hear anyone outside?" she asks from her place in the chair, leaning back, hooking a leg over the arm of the chair.

He takes another step forward, listening. He hears nothing. _There were people outside before, I know there were._ "Hmm. I guess not."

He is right in front of her now. He bends down and picks up the gauntlet, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiles seductively at him as he accepts her challenge, putting her leg back down on the seat of the chair.

Arthur starts to stand, but decides to kneel in front of her instead, running his hands up her legs, the silk of her dress sliding and slipping beneath his palms. He raises up slightly and leans forward to kiss her, nudging himself between her knees. Gwen holds his face gently in her hands while his tongue sneaks into her mouth. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registers that his hands are busy raising her skirts.

She can feel the cooling air of the evening against the exposed skin of her legs, the rough material of his shirt between her knees.

He pulls back from her lips, gives her a devilish grin, leans forward again to plant a kiss at her cleavage, then drops back down, pulling her forward on the chair as he does so.

"Arthur…" she says, realizing what he's doing. _My plan was to do this to him,_ she thinks, but any protest rising to her throat is swiftly abandoned, forgotten, as his lips make contact with her beneath her skirts, warm and wet.

"Oh…" Guinevere breathes, slumping back in the chair, her eyes fluttering closed. Arthur plunges his tongue forward, pointed and firm, as he thrusts it into her, then retracting it to slide along her warmth, flicking against the tight bundle of nerves in the front, swollen with desire.

He can feel her body trembling ever so slightly, weak with desire, and he smiles smugly against her, his tongue and lips soft and luxurious against her most sensitive area, drawing the sweetness out of her like a hummingbird drinking nectar from a flower.

Arthur reaches up, groping blindly up her abdomen with his left hand. Gwen takes it and guides it to her breast, its intended target, and he grasps it, his thumb tracing the soft skin above her bodice in time with his tongue below.

"Arthur," Gwen gasps quietly, reaching her hand down into his hair, the soft blonde strands threading through her fingers.

He suckles at the sensitive nub between her legs, and a heated torrent of sensation courses through her. She feels heavy as lead yet floating as a feather in the breeze. Two fingers entering her join his licks and gentle nibbles, and she cries out, her fingers bunching his hair in her fist.

He moves his hand, sliding his fingers in and out as he flicks his tongue against her, faster, more urgently. Gwen puts her hand over his hand on her breast, holding it there, squeezing. Her head falls back as the heat building within her spills over, flooding her veins with liquid fire, and she cries out again, his name a prayer and a curse on her lips.

Arthur feels her come to her release, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers, her hips jerking beneath his lips, her thighs reflexively squeezing his head. He chuckles against her inner thighs as he slowly withdraws his fingers from her, bringing them to his own lips to lick them clean. He kisses her thighs a few times, then emerges from beneath her bunched-up skirts, grinning.

He replaces her skirts and rests his head in her lap, and she strokes his cheek and his hair lovingly as she waits for her breathing to slow and her pulse to return to normal.

"That wasn't what I had planned, my king," Guinevere finally says.

"Oh? Were we just going to have wine and polite conversation?"

She laughs. "Not exactly. You are too… _persuasive_ sometimes, though."

He lifts his head. "And what was it you were planning?"

"I'm not going to tell you now," she says with a shrug. "You'll just have to wait," she grins at him, ruffling his hair.


	4. The Throne Room

Guinevere stretches, waking from an unintended nap. _I wonder how late it is? I only meant to lay down for a moment to rest my feet._

She turns, and something hard and pointy jabs her hip.

"Oh!" _What the…?_

Arthur's crown is sitting in the middle of the bed.

_Naughty, Arthur. There? Honestly?_

She swings her feet to the floor, crown in hand. On a whim, she tries it on. It slides down over her head, stopping when it hits her nose, blocking her eyes.

_Perhaps not, then._ She puts the crown away, in its place in the wardrobe, and heads for the throne room.

She pushes the heavy door open. The throne room is dimly-lit and seemingly empty. She closes the door behind her and wisely slides the bolt in place, locking the doors.

In the dim light she sees Arthur's form lounging on his throne, his white shirt a beacon in the gloom.

"I request audience with the king," she says, her smoky voice ringing off of the polished wood and stone.

"Step forward and let me see you," he commands, though she is steadily walking towards him.

"Yes, Sire," she answers, biting back an impish smirk. _He's going to pay for this later._

_How is it that she can use my title on me – which I hate – and make it sound like seduction?_

She continues forward and crosses through an errant sunbeam that doesn't seem to realize it shouldn't be there.

"Stop there in the light."

She stops.

He leisurely slides from his throne and stalks toward her, a cougar circling a fawn.

"You are most pleasing to my eyes," he says finally, low, in her ear.

"Thank you, Sire," she replies meekly, playing her part in his little game.

He touches her. His hands circle her small waist, lingering for a moment before they drop down to briefly cup her backside before traveling higher, ghosting at the sides of her breasts, sliding at her neck, gently, his rough palms creating delicious friction at the sensitive skin of her throat as one slips around behind her neck.

"You are most pleasing to my hands," he says, leaning in closer, his other hand again circling her waist.

"Thank you, Sire," she repeats, her voice almost a whisper.

Arthur gently tilts her face up to his and leans in closer still, his lips hovering a hair's breadth from hers, drawing out the moment, the anticipation of it, making her wait until he can feel her body quivering in his arms.

Finally he claims his prize, his lips pressing into hers firmly but sensuously, savoring her taste, the feel of her succulent lips beneath his.

Gwen longs to part her lips for him, to allow his tongue to plunder her mouth, to plunder his mouth with her tongue. But he doesn't let her. He pulls away before she can, trailing kisses down her neck. Her head falls back into his hand.

"You are most pleasing to my lips," he says against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Thank you, Sire." Just a breath.

"You may have your audience," he rumbles in her ear, "for a price."

"My lord, I have no money," she answers, smiling only because his face is still tucked into her neck, his lips and tongue amusing themselves on her skin.

"I desire no coin from you, Maid," he says, pulling away from her neck. Gwen quickly schools her features as he gazes into her eyes, their blue-grey irises burning into her.

_He's trying not to laugh,_ she notes, seeing the amusement behind the desire.

"What could I possibly have to offer my king?" she innocently asks.

_She's better at this than I am,_ Arthur notes. _I may be in over my head here._

_ Concentrate, man._

He pulls her closer, pressing his hips forward so she can feel his hard length against her stomach.

Gwen is not surprised at all, but she has the presence of mind to gasp as though she is. "My Lord!" she exclaims, the corners of her mouth twitching.

He kisses her again, this time open-mouthed and hungry, his tongue making demands that she easily meets, demanding right back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes that she is being pushed backwards, to the steps of the dais, where he gently eases them down, sitting them on the steps.

_Not enough room on the throne,_ he decided on the way.

"Touch me," he says simply.

"My Lord?" she asks, again feigning innocence.

He studies her for a very brief moment. _She's committed, I'll give her that._ He takes her hand and guides it to his groin, placing her slender hand against his length. Her fingers instinctively grasp it and slide, bringing forth a groan from Arthur.

She leans over and kisses him, her tongue leading this time, delving in, sucking at his full lips, nibbling at them. Her hand briefly moves away from him to the ties on his trousers, opening them so that she can slip her hand inside.

"Yes," he whispers against her lips, his own hands at her breasts, squeezing them through the material of her dress.

_If he unties my bodice, he's going to have to re-tie it before we leave here,_ she thinks.

Arthur moans into her mouth as she moves her hand on him, her soft hand like velvet on his shaft. One of his hands strays to her skirts, pulling them up, up, her slender legs coming into view. He skims his hand along her leg, turning to her inner thigh, higher, until his knuckles brush against the coarse damp curls at their juncture.

Guinevere sighs and her hand loses its rhythm briefly as he touches her, his fingers finding her sensitive spots easily, expertly, touching her just like he knows she likes.

"Oh…" she gasps, her hand moving in time with his. Arthur's lips leave hers and travel down her neck to her breasts, kissing their exposed tops, dipping his tongue into her cleavage, sucking gently at her delicious skin.

Her hand on him becomes more than he can take, but instead of stopping her, he decides to let her finish him. He drops his head against her breasts. "Faster," he pleads, his fingers stumbling now, losing their rhythm against her.

She complies, speeding up, squeezing a little tighter as well, increasing the friction. His head swims and his fingers forget what they are doing, distracted by the whirlwind of sensation flooding his body, shooting through him to his toes.

Arthur comes with a hoarse grunt, spilling his seed onto her hand, into his trousers. His hand lazily resumes its motion on her, sliding a finger inside, thumb rubbing tiny circles on her sensitive spot. He pleasures her as he recovers from his own release that has left him weak and panting, his face still pressed into her chest.

She feels his lips begin to kiss her again, and his fingers speed up once more, and she throws her head back, her hair pooling on the floor beneath her as Arthur kisses a trail of fire up her neck to return to her waiting lips.

His fingers move furiously yet gently, drawing her climax from her like honey from a hive, sweet and thick. Her breathing speeds up, her head tosses on the floor, she grips his shirt in her hand.

"Oh… oh yes!" she calls out, her passionate cry echoing throughout the empty throne room. Arthur chuckles, wondering if anyone is outside the doors just now.

He moves his fingers a few more times, just to torture her a little, and she reflexively clamps her thighs together, trapping his hand. He laughs again, carefully extracting his hand from her warmth.

He pulls her to him, into his arms, pulling her skirts back down. "Now, about this audience," he says, grinning.

"My apologies, your highness, but I've forgotten why I sought you out now."


	5. The Dungeon

_A key. But to what?_ Arthur picks it up and glowers at it. _She is evil. This is an evil, difficult hint._

He turns it around in his palm. _This room has lock and key. But that would be stupid. What else requires a key? A trunk? No, too small. The vaults?_ He goes to his bedside table, opening it. _No, all there. The dungeons?_

He stares at the key. It is a thick key, iron. Not a fine key to a delicate lock on something valuable. He scratches a spot of rust from the key with his thumbnail.

_She wouldn't. Would she?_ Would _she?_

_ Only one way to find out._

Arthur tucks the key into his palm, and makes his way to the dungeons. It is evening, after dinner, and most everyone is going about their own business, the servants cleaning up dinner, the knights changing shifts.

He descends the stairs, wondering what he'll find. _If she's down here, how will I find her? How will we… do what we've been doing without being discovered?_

"My lord, the queen instructed me to give you this should you come down here," a slightly puzzled guard hands him a note.

"Thank you, Robert," Arthur says, taking it from him. He walks a distance away, into the dungeon corridor, and opens the note.

_Turn left and go to the very end. –G._

He follows the instructions, walking to the very end. There's nothing there but another choice: right or left. He looks left; he looks right. He spies a length of lavender ribbon tied at the base of a torch down the right corridor. So he turns right.

Arthur grabs the ribbon from the torch on the wall and saunters casually along, wrapping it around his hand absentmindedly.

Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin's head snaps up sharply as he feels another one of his protective charms spring into action. He grins and goes back to his reading.

Arthur reaches the last cell at the end of the dungeons and finally sees her.

"You're late."

He is about to make a flippant remark, but something in her tone and demeanor stops him. He regards her for just a moment, measuring the situation.

Arthur's first crush happened when he was twelve years old. Lady Beverly. His tutor in courtly conduct and manners. She was young and beautiful and smelled like roses. But she was also a stern taskmistress, and was the first person to not indulge the prince. She was strict and unforgiving. She was demanding. She did not tolerate Arthur's nonsense or his petulance. She was the first woman Arthur truly respected. And Arthur was smitten.

Guinevere sounded just like Lady Beverly.

The twelve-year-old boy buried inside Arthur's heart woke up and started jumping around excitedly.

Gwen fixed him in her stare. She was not smiling. She was waiting, and it looked like she was growing impatient with him.

_Better say something._

"Forgive me," he says. Swallowing, he decides to add, "My queen."

One tiny corner of her lush lips turns up in the tiniest of smiles.

_Correct answer._

"Key." She holds out her hand. He places the key on her palm.

"Against the wall," she says, indicating where with only her eyes.

"Yes, my queen," Arthur replies and walks to the wall. _She's not going to do what I think she's going to do, is she?_

She turns, standing to face him, hands on her hips. "Remove your shirt."

He does, tossing it carelessly on the straw-riddled floor. He feels a devilish grin pulling at his lips, but carefully keeps it at bay.

Guinevere strides toward him, very close. Close enough to touch, but she keeps her hands at her hips.

Instinctively, Arthur's arms reach for her, and she steps back, raising her eyebrows at him.

"I am sorry, my queen." He drops his hands and she steps forward.

"You will learn your place," she says quietly, her lips inches from his. She steps away from him for a moment, returning with a wooden box, which she sets in front of him.

_Oh, God, she's going to do it._

She stands on the box and reaches for his left hand, raising it up over his head and fastening an iron shackle around his wrist.

Arthur struggles to keep his expression neutral, to not give away the fact that his head is spinning with possibilities and his heart is pounding and his loins are already starting to pay attention.

Gwen reaches for his right hand and raises it up, securing it beside the other.

"Aha," she says, spying her lavender ribbon still clutched in his left hand. She removes it and threads it through the key, tying the ends together and slipping it over her head.

Arthur's eyes drop to the key, now nestled in her cleavage.

Gwen steps off the box and sets it aside, taking her time. She turns back to study her husband, chained to the dungeon wall.

He can feel her eyes on him as they rake over his chest, down, noting the bulge beginning in his trousers, then back up to gaze into his eyes. He looks back at her, and the love he sees there is the only thing that contradicts the rest of her demeanor.

"Arthur," she starts, pacing in front of him. "You have been… a naughty king."

"Yes, my queen."

"You foiled my plans in the tent. You ordered me about in the throne room." She stops pacing and faces him. "Now you must pay."

_She is trying so hard not to smile,_ he notes, and his own mouth twitches. "Yes, my queen."

She turns away from him and begins untying her bodice. _I notice she is wearing one that ties in the front,_ Arthur thinks, knowing she is being deliberately cruel by turning her back to him so he cannot see.

She drops the bodice near his shirt and slides her dress down from one shoulder, looking over it at him as she does so. He groans and closes his eyes.

"Open your eyes."

"Yes, my queen."

Gwen continues removing her dress, stepping out of it and facing him again dressed only in her thin cream-colored chemise. She returns to him, standing as close as she can. She places a wet kiss at his throat, touching her tongue to his skin briefly.

The cool air of the dungeon meets the moisture there when she removes her lips, and he can feel the remains of her kiss on him.

She drags her fingers down his chest, raising goosebumps on his skin and tightening his nipples. He exhales sharply and his fingers clutch uselessly over his head, but he says nothing.

"Kiss me."

"Yes, my queen," Arthur obediently answers, bending his head down to her raised face, gently pressing his lips to hers, letting her take the lead. She slides her tongue across his lips and he opens them, meeting her tongue with his, melding with her, reveling in her.

He forgets himself and starts to press further, as much as he can, given his restrictions, and she backs away, giving him that eyebrow again.

"Forgive me, my queen," he apologizes, his voice low.

Gwen nips his neck and steps back, regarding him calmly again.

Reaching up, she drops the straps of the chemise and it falls to the floor. Arthur swallows, watching her, not able to touch that skin, that honeyed skin that rouses his desires with a mere memory of its texture, its color, its flavor.

"G—"

"Shut up."

Arthur's mouth snaps closed. _Wow._

She floats forward again, and Arthur doesn't know where to look. He can't see everything at once, and his eyes dart between her face, her breasts, and her hips until she is too close and all he can see is her face.

Guinevere presses her breasts against his chest, then backs off slightly to slide them along him, letting his fine chest hair tickle her, the friction making her nipples stiffen. He looks down into her face to see her eyes blissfully closed and her lips parted. He almost kisses her, but stops himself, knowing there would be consequences if he did.

She opens her eyes. "Don't even think about it, Pendragon. You are being punished."

_Damn, I forgot that she can read my mind._

Her hands drop to his trousers, pulling at the ties.

_This is punishment?_ he thinks, then tries to touch her. _Oh. Right. So it is._

She drags his trousers down his legs, leaving them hanging at his calves, bunched up against his boots. She runs her hands along his legs on the way back up, coming dangerously close to touching him but just missing, torturing him.

He clenches his jaw together and pinches his eyes shut. Just for a moment. They open again when she reaches around and squeezes his buttocks.

She leans forward and kisses his chest, roving over to close her lips over one of his nipples, biting it lightly and swirling her tongue around it. As she teases his chest with her tongue, she presses her body forward, sliding her stomach across his erection.

"Oh…" he grunts, and she bites his nipple a little harder in response. He inhales sharply, the slight pain remarkably pleasurable.

Gwen drags her tongue up the center of his chest, settling at his neck, placing small biting kisses there as she finally touches him, feather-light and fleeting.

_Finally._

Without thinking, his hips thrust forward, pressing into her hand firmer.

She immediately steps away and slaps him. Not hard, but just hard enough.

Arthur's eyes fly wide open, shocked and oddly aroused, and he bites his lower lip as he looks down into her eyes, which are still soft and loving.

"I am sorry, my queen."

"Are you?"

"Yes, my queen."

"How sorry?" she asks, her hand straying over her breasts, the key still hanging tantalizingly between them.

"Quite sorry, my queen."

"Oh?" Her other hand drops between her legs, sliding a single finger.

"Very, _very_ sorry, my queen," he croaks.

She doesn't seem to hear him because she continues to move her finger on herself, her hand at her breast squeezing, rolling the firm nipple between her fingers.

Arthur licks his lips. His hands grasp the air. His shoulders ache. His mind reels.

Gwen removes her finger from herself with a sigh, and returns to Arthur. She lifts her finger to his lips and he takes it into his mouth, sucking the moisture from it. He closes his eyes and swirls his tongue around her finger, loving it, nibbling lightly at the tip before she gently extracts it.

"Thank you, my queen."

That tiniest of smiles again. _Right thing to say._

She slides her hands down his body again, this time boldly touching him, grasping him fully in her hand before dropping to her knees in front of him.

She kisses the head of his shaft once, then takes his length into her mouth, closing it around him, pulling him in as far as she can.

_Oh, God…_ Arthur drops his head back against the hard stone of the cell wall.

Gwen moves her lips on his manhood, sliding up and down, her hand grasping below, squeezing gently, her fingers light and expert. She pulls back, licking the length of him, top then bottom, biting the tip ever so gently.

Arthur's body is completely rigid; every muscle is tense, like a coiled spring. He strains to control his hips, his voice, knowing any step out of line will make her stop.

And stopping is one thing he does _not_ want her to do.

_I want to touch her_ so _badly. Maybe I can wrap my legs… no. Not only would she disapprove, but my trousers are effectively shackling my ankles as well._

She takes all of him into her mouth again, and his thoughts vanish. The only thing he is aware of his her: her mouth, her hand, the tickle of her hair.

He opens his mouth, gasping, his breathing heavy and fast. Guinevere's skilled mouth knows exactly what he likes. She sucks hard, sliding him out, and his body jerks as she releases his head with a _pop_ just before plunging it back in, slipping her tongue around his shaft.

Arthur reaches his climax swiftly under her attentions, and the spring uncoils as he floods into her mouth, thick and hot down her throat, his member throbbing as she gently slides him from her lips, a massive groan escaping from him.

He slumps slightly, hanging from his chains. Gwen kisses his navel as she stands, then lifts up on her toes to kiss his lips lightly, lovingly.

Gwen retrieves the wooden box, sliding it back in front of him. She stands on it and opens the shackle on Arthur's right wrist, then his left.

He immediately grabs her, holding her waist, his hands running up and down her back. She brings her arms around his neck and he tucks his head into her neck, weak and spent.

"You did well, my love," Gwen whispers into his ear, kissing it, stroking his hair, letting him touch her, feel her skin, drink her in.

He says nothing; he just clings to her, silently, his hands roving slowly, while he waits for his breathing to slow to normal.

Guinevere continues her loving attention, no longer stern and unforgiving, she is gentle and kind, loving, lavishing him with gentle kisses and praise. She caresses his cheek, runs her fingers through his silken hair, and tells him she loves him again and again.

He finally lifts his head and looks at her, bringing his hands to her face. She wraps her fingers around his wrists, rubbing them gently where the irons were. He leans in and kisses her leisurely, all soft lips and caressing tongues.

"Wow," is all he can think to say.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asks, her fingers still caressing his wrists.

He shakes his head no. She finally smiles at him, the smile only he sees, his favorite smile.

He kisses her again, a few nibbling pecks, before helping her hop down from the box she is still standing on.

She bends to retrieve her chemise and slides it on over her head before she finds herself pulled back into his arms and getting kissed again.

"Did I ever tell you about Lady Beverly?"


	6. The Stable

Gwen stands, staring at the bed with her hands on her hips, regarding the item perched on the middle of the coverlet.

_I can barely even lift that. How am I supposed to take it back down to the stables?_ She quirks her head to the side and lifts a hand to her chin.

_At least he put a blanket down beneath it so it's not actually touching the covers._ She chuckles once.

She turns and waves her hand dismissively at it. "He can take that damn thing away, I'm not going to," she says aloud, heading for the door.

Halfway to the courtyard doors, she spies Merlin. "Merlin?"

"Yes, my lady?" he grins at her.

She smirks at him. "Um, Merlin, I really hate to ask this, but…"

"Don't worry about the saddle, Gwen, I'll take care of it," he says casually.

She studies his face. _Does he know? Of course he does._

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, patting his arm in a friendly way before heading out the door.

"I've brought you a treat, I have. Would you like the carrot or the apple?" Arthur's voice drifts from the stables and reaches Gwen's ears.

A decidedly equine snort is the reply, and Guinevere smiles as she stops in the doorway, watching.

"Yes, yes, you can have them both, of course, but which one would you like first?"

She watches as Arthur's magnificent brown horse, Captain, reaches for the carrot with his teeth, taking it gently from the king's hand. He chews the carrot while Arthur strokes his great head and talks softly to him.

He turns slightly so his back is to her, and she creeps forward silently and wraps her hands around his chest from behind.

"You're lucky I'm not the jealous type," she says, turning her head to rest her cheek against his back.

"You are far superior to any horse, my love," he teases.

"Thanks, I think."

"Wait. How fast can you run?" he asks, turning to face her with a grin. She slaps his chest playfully.

Captain nudges Arthur's shoulder, jealous of the attention he is no longer getting. He also wants his apple.

"Here you go, baby," Arthur says indulgently, giving the horse his apple and another stroke on the nose.

Gwen reaches over and gives the horse a pat as well just as Arthur bends to kiss her. Captain crunches noisily behind them, and Guinevere giggles, breaking the kiss.

"Captain…" Arthur sighs, and pulls his wife to an empty stall, spotlessly clean, with a blanket spread atop fresh straw on the floor. He looks around. "You didn't bring the saddle back?" He kisses her.

"Arthur, did you honestly think I'd want to haul that big heavy thing all the way down here?" She kisses him.

"So it's still on the bed?" Kiss.

"No." Kiss. "Merlin is going to take care of it." Kiss.

"Merlin? So he… he knows? What we've been up to?" Arthur pales.

Gwen laughs, her hands tracing the contours of his chest through his shirt. "Arthur, honestly. Of course he knows. The man knows everything going on in that castle." She leans up and kisses him yet again, longer this time.

He pulls her down onto the blanket with him, pulling her over him. "Does he, now?" he asks, kissing her neck.

"Who do you think runs that place, anyway? Certainly…" she pauses as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, "certainly not you. Merlin and I keep that place running, you know."

He lifts his head and looks at her beautiful face. "I'd argue, but there's no point," he says, capturing her lips once again, sucking at her full lower lip. "Because you're right."

"Of course I'm right," she gasps, his hands now joining in on the fun, finding the soft mounds of her breasts. "A… a mouse could sneeze in the castle and… and Merlin would be right there with a tiny handkerchief," she says, wondering why she is continuing this conversation.

Arthur laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Gwen smiles down at him from her position straddling his lap, his amusement delighting her. _I love it when I can make him laugh._

"Guinevere, what would I do without you?" he asks, cupping her face in his hands. Neither of them acknowledge that they know full well what he would do without her. It no longer needs discussion.

"I shudder to think," Gwen teases, sliding her hands beneath his shirt. He leans back on his elbows, sighing contentedly. She grabs the material of his shirt and pulls him upright so that she can pull the shirt off over his head. Once discarded, he lays back again, easing her down with him, pulling her gently by the shoulders.

Their lips meet again, greedy for one another. The raw animal smells around them, the rough wool of the blanket beneath them, the warm summer afternoon air around them all tickle their senses as they kiss and touch, discovery a forgotten concern in this little game of theirs.

Arthur reaches for the laces at the back of her dress, tugging them loose.

"You're going to have to do those back up later, you know," she warns against his lips.

"I know; I don't care. I want you. All of you," he answers, his voice rough as he frees the laces of her dress enough to slide it from her shoulders. "No shift?" he asks.

"It's hot out today," she shrugs. He smirks and pushes at her dress. She lifts up and removes the dress. Arthur reaches for her, pulling her back down to him, but she squirms away and turns, yanking his boots off with a grin.

"Hey!" he protests.

"Fair is fair, my king," she tells him, reaching for his trousers, swiftly opening them and removing them.

She finally rejoins him, sliding over his body with hers, and they spend a few moments luxuriating in the feel of each other.

"Oh, you feel so good," he groans, his hands roaming her back while her front delights his.

Her effect on him brings a satisfied smile to her face, and she drops her head to kiss him, mouth open immediately, thrusting her tongue inside, loving his taste, his feel. Arthur allows her to kiss him for a short time while his hands amuse themselves at her breasts.

She moves against him, capturing his shaft between her legs, sliding her legs to stroke him with the silky skin of her inner thighs.

He makes a growling noise and flips them over, no longer able to lay idly by, needing to take control, make her his own once again.

"Oh!" she exclaims, laughing beneath him.

He immediately takes a breast into his mouth, laving the stiff nipple with his tongue. Gwen leans her head back and sighs, moving her hips slightly against him, telling him what she wants.

Arthur obligingly lowers his hand, ghosting it across her stomach before he touches her, slipping his finger along the folds of her womanhood, making her gasp and writhe with pleasure.

"Is that what you wanted, my love?" he mutters into her breasts as he works his way across to attend the other one, pulling it greedily into his mouth.

"Yes, Arthur," she gasps, "more…"

At that, he thrusts his fingers into her and bites her nipple gently, bringing forth another delicious gasp.

She reaches for him, carefully pulling, guiding him towards her center. "Already?" he asks without thinking.

"Yes…" she cries out softly. "I want you inside me," she adds, and he is helpless.

He pushes forward, entering her with ease, sliding in as far as he can. He kisses her as he enters her, invading her mouth with his tongue as well.

"Oh…" she pulls her lips away momentarily before he captures them again and begins to move his hips, thrusting deeply.

Guinevere wraps her arms around his muscular torso, clutching his back, his rear, whatever she can grab.

Arthur finally releases her lips and starts in on her neck again, not losing his rhythm at all. In fact, he increases the tempo, the intensity.

"I… I love… how you feel… inside of me…" she gasps, digging her nails in with one hand while grabbing a fistful of his hair with the other.

"I… I…" he starts to speak, but his brain won't cooperate. "I love… you," he finally settles on, punctuating his sparse words with his hips.

"Oh… ah… Arth… oh, Arthur!" she finally cries out, pulling his head down as she bucks beneath him, biting his neck, clinging to him in the throes of her climax.

He wraps her in his arms, pulling her up to him, wanting her as close as possible as he approaches his own finish. He wraps her hair around his hand, holding her head, his other hand lower, at her back, supporting them both.

He moves faster still, harder still, plowing into her mercilessly. She winds her legs around him, allowing him to go deeper yet. Arthur closes his eyes and leans back suddenly as his wave rolls over him, then, remembering, he drops his head back down to be close to her, enveloping her with himself as he rides out his release with a massive groan, motionless, buried deep inside her.

"Nice afternoon for a ride, yes?" Sir Leon asks as he sees the king and queen walking back from the stables.

"Perfect afternoon for a ride," Arthur deadpans, but Guinevere hears the innuendo in his voice and unsuccessfully attempts to stifle a giggle.

Leon gives them an odd look before nodding respectfully to the pair. They walk towards the castle, and something makes Leon turn and look back at them.

He sees several pieces of straw tangled in Gwen's hair.


	7. A message to readers

All right, kids, _The Game_ can only continue with your help. If you want more chapters, you need to give me ideas. If there's someplace you want me to put our babies and make them do naughty things, PM me.

However, I have rules:

1. It must be interesting.

2. It must be meaningful.

3. It must be within their "world." No A/Us will be considered for this one.

And don't forget, it needs to be a place for which one of the pair can leave a hint for the other to find. So Spontaneous Acts of Lust cannot be considered, sorry.

**I am very particular**, as some of you already know, so I reserve the right to select the ones that appeal to me. If you send me one and I do not use it, do not be offended. There's a chance I may yet get to it. If I don't, sorry.

I promise I will give credit where due, and if more than one person sends me the same idea, I will credit all names.

So get crackin'. If you want more, you gotta help me out!

Love you all,

kbrand5333


	8. The Kitchen

"Arthur, remember to be quiet. It's late; Gwen might be sleeping," Merlin says softly outside the doors to the royal chambers.

"Merlin, Guinevere always waits up for me, you know that," Arthur replies, but Merlin does notice that he is speaking in hushed tones as well.

Merlin opens the door carefully and Arthur walks in. The room is mostly dark, with a few scant candles yet lit. Arthur drops his gloves on the table and Merlin helps him to remove his cloak.

_Something is off._ Arthur furrows his brows and looks toward the bed. He can only see the foot of it, but it looks empty. He strides over to it as Merlin watches from beside the table, smirking.

Arthur picks up a wooden spoon from the center of the bed. He stares at it as if it has just fallen from the sky.

_Welcome home Arthur, indeed._ He thinks, twirling the spoon with his fingers as he walks back to the doors.

"Take the night off, Merlin," he says as he sweeps past him. "And don't be early tomorrow morning, either."

"Arthur," Merlin calls.

"What?" Arthur stops and turns, irritated.

"Chainmail. Might be, um… simpler if you left it here?"

"Right." He walks back to the table, sets the spoon down and allows Merlin to help him hoist the heavy garment over his head.

"All right, off you go," Merlin says, handing him the spoon.

Arthur gives him an odd look, snatches the spoon, and heads out the door.

"Be—"

"—gone before you return, yeah, yeah," Merlin says casually, gathering up Arthur's things. He waits a few minutes before muttering his protection spell for them, grinning despite the fact that he knows he'll never get any thanks.

_Kitchen, kitchen… Kitchen? Really, Guinevere? I suppose it's no stranger than any of the other places we've met up._

He passes guards and servants, ignoring their respectful nods as he hurries past. _If they knew where I was off to and why…_ he chuckles to himself as he pushes open the door to the kitchens.

The place is large. _Where is she?_

"Guinevere?" he calls softly, spoon clutched in his hand like a weapon.

He hears a rattling in the direction of the pantries, so he heads that way.

He finds her amongst the cold stores, waiting patiently amongst shelves of spices and dried fruits, root vegetables and onions.

"Welcome home, my king," she says, her voice like velvet. She is clad only in her dressing gown, one shapely brown leg thrust forward, taunting him.

_How did she get down here dressed like that with no one seeing or suspecting?_ Arthur cannot help but wonder.

"My queen," he nods to her, pausing just a moment to run his eyes over her, lingering at her exposed thigh, the opening of the dressing gown at her chest, her full, parted lips.

He steps forward and surrounds her with his arms, basking in her presence. "I was gone too long," he whispers, his lips feathering against her ear.

"You were gone two days, Arthur," she says into his chest.

"As I said." He playfully smacks her backside with the spoon still clutched in his hand. She yelps and jumps slightly, and Arthur times his kiss perfectly, capturing her lips mid-jump. He feels her smiling under him, opening her mouth for him, pressing seductively against him.

He groans, low and long, pushing his hips forward slightly into her, letting her feel how much he's missed her.

Her tongue dances with his, teasing, sweeping through the familiar warmth of his mouth. She slides her hands down his chest, dropping to his waist, untying his trousers while they kiss.

She opens them and thrusts her hand inside. He drops the spoon. Gwen giggles as the wood clatters against the stones behind her.

Arthur pulls his lips from hers, surveying their surroundings. _Think, man, think._ His eyes drift to a narrow wall at the end of the pantry. _No shelves._ He pulls the tie on her dressing gown, opening it but leaving it on her shoulders.

He slips his hands inside, running them over the contours of her body, whispering, "I missed you so much, Love," before bending his head to kiss her again. His hands continue their exploration, then settle on her waist as he picks her up. She wraps her arms around his neck, hanging on, wrapping her legs around him as he walks, backing her up against the wall.

Guinevere feels the cold hard stone behind her shoulder blades, thankful the dressing gown is there to provide some warmth. Arthur drops his lips to her breasts, taking one in his mouth, kissing it hungrily, greedy for her. She clings to his shoulders and lets her head fall back against the wall for a moment, sighing his name.

"Say that again," he mutters into her breasts.

She bends her head to his, sucking his earlobe into her mouth, nipping it gently with her teeth before whispering, "Arthur."

"Oh, God…" he groans, adjusting his hold on her to withdraw himself fully from his trousers, and Gwen shifts herself, pinned between his solid body and the solid wall, and sinks down over him, sheathing his length within her.

He thrusts his hips forward and up, pushing into her, hard and fast, and she cries out with the force of it, the sheer… masculinity of his actions.

Her cry startles him, and he pauses. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, alarmed, kissing her lips, her nose, her eyelids.

"No!" Gwen practically shouts, "don't stop!" She actually reaches up and pulls his hair.

"Oh!" he exclaims, and repeats the move, and again, over and over, drilling her into the wall.

She is clinging to him, riding him like he is her prized stallion. He thrusts furiously into her, his own need from their days apart diving him, pushing him.

Gwen's left hand shoots out and grabs a nearby shelf, her fingernails digging into the wood, as her cries of passion become more frequent and fevered.

Arthur can take no more, the glory of her body around his combined with the frenzy of her passion sends his senses reeling. He feels her muscles contract around him and hears her final cry, hoarse and long, just before he releases his seed into her with his own strangled cry.

He hears a tumble and some muffled thumps and looks to his right. She's knocked a basket of dried figs from the shelf in the midst of her throes. He chuckles into her neck as she clings to him, still breathing heavily.

The cook enters the pantry early next morning to begin preparing breakfasts for the day. Walking in, searching for ingredients, she steps on something.

"What's this spoon doing here?" she puzzles, bending to retrieve it. She studies it like it's going to answer her for a moment, then tucks it into her apron.

"Figs, figs… where did I put you, now?"

**A/N: So, the most popular request thus far was the kitchen. Thank you, larasmith, dannic38 and LadyOfLegend98!**

**Keep the requests coming!**


	9. The Round Table

The loud chirping of birds awakens Guinevere just before dawn. _Why is the window open? Those birds are so loud._

She rolls over, reaching for Arthur. And reaching. She peels an eye open. No Arthur. She sits up, and sees his sword on the bed, in his place.

_Okay, first of all, that's dangerous. Second, that's not the right place. Third, where in the hell am I supposed to go with that?_

Rubbing her eyes, she lifts the sword. _Oh,_ this _sword. The special one. I know where to go._

She climbs out of bed and slips on a nightdress and her dressing gown. Glancing back at the room before she slips out the back exit, her last thought is, _Merlin will understand._

She slips through deserted corridors, ones that are rarely used, making her way down, down till she reaches her destination.

Guinevere pulls open the door, a door once hidden but now is easily found by all who need to know it, and enters the room. Early morning sunlight is filtering in through some of the windows, streaking across the floor. She turns and slides the bolt across the door, locking it.

_I don't see him. This has to be the place._ She slowly walks to the table, setting the sword down in its place.

"Arthur?" she calls quietly. Frowning, she looks down at the table, tracing the patterns of the runes there under her finger, thinking. _Where else would he be?_

He creeps forward from the shadows on silent bare feet, watching her. His eyes rove over her wonderfully familiar curves. Hair pulled back and over one shoulder, revealing a section of her delectable neck. Narrow waist leading to her beautiful backside. As he approaches, she leans forward over the table, placing her hands flat on the surface. _Excellent._

Right behind her, he reaches his hands around her, under her arms, covering her breasts as he places an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck. She gasps, her breasts immediately reacting to his touch. Relishing the effect he has on her, he rubs them deliciously, teasing the hardened nipples with his thumbs as he licks and bites her neck. She reaches up with her right hand to cup his face as she turns her head to kiss him. His hungry tongue meets hers in a battle for dominance, stroking, pushing, biting. She tries to turn to face him but he holds her firmly, keeping her back to him.

He releases her lips and her breasts, his hands caressing their way down and around to her back. One hand roves up her back, pushing her forward, bending her over the table, while the other lifts the skirt of her nightdress and robe. He opens his trousers and rubs his erection against her inner thighs. She moans, instinctively angling her backside upwards to allow him access.

He thrusts into her from behind, causing her to cry out with pleasure. He trails his hand from her rump down along and around to the front of her thigh so that he can stroke her with his fingers while he pounds into her. His other hand gently caresses the mound of her rear in in front of him. Suddenly he spanks her. Not hard, but just hard enough. She cries out again as he resumes caressing it. The combination of sensations – his length plowing at her depths, the hard stone of the table beneath her, his fingers flicking at her sensitive nub, his other hand caressing, then spanking – is almost too much for Gwen to take.

"You like that, do you?" he grunts, speaking for the first time.

"Yes!" she manages. He spanks her again. "Oh, yes, Arthur!"

He moves his hand to attend to the other cheek, giving it the same attention, gentle caresses, feather-light, alternating with the sharp spanking. Gwen is about to lose her mind. She is also about to come. Arthur can tell she's close to the edge, and he pulls out suddenly.

"Oh!" she gasps in surprise and disappointment.

Arthur isn't ready to be done with her yet. He flips her over so she is on her back, lying on the table. He yanks impatiently at the tie of her robe, opening it, to expose her… nightdress. Frustrated, he grasps the front of her dress at the collar in both hands and pulls forcefully, tearing the gown down the front, exposing her smooth dark skin. He shoves the material aside, having rent it completely down the front. Arthur then takes her ankles in both hands and places them on his shoulders, her legs resting on his chest. He drives into her again, growling.

Guinevere is writhing on the table, wild with desire. Her hands reach out, fists clenching and unclenching, trying to find something to grasp. She settles on her own breasts, clutching at them, pinching her own nipples, kneading the soft flesh. This sight only inflames Arthur further, and he runs his hands up and down her legs, under her backside, roaming as far as he can reach as he drives into her. He turns his head and kisses the arch of her foot, licking the ticklish skin there, nibbling her toes. She gasps, her breathing labored, and brings her legs down from his shoulders, spreading herself wide for him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

She reaches up and grabs at his waist, digging her nails into his sides. He continues his rhythm, reaching his hands forward, stroking up her stomach to her breasts, rubbing his rough thumbs on her stiff nipples. He thrusts harder, faster. Gwen screams as a powerful orgasm hits, her hands moving around to grasp his backside, digging her nails in, and he hisses as he feels the sharp points of her fingernails piercing his flesh. _That's going to leave marks,_ he absently thinks, wincing slightly at the burning sensation registering from the small claw marks that are surely dotting his rear.

Undeterred, her climax spurs him on, and Arthur jams himself into her a few more times before his own release comes over him, powerful and blinding, and he spills into her, warm and wet.

He leans down over her and kisses her, bringing her back up to a seated position. He gathers the two halves of her nightdress back together with an apologetic grin. She sighs, knowing that it is beyond repair, and kisses him anyway.

"Good morning, Wife," he says, kissing the end of her nose.

**A/N: Thanks to Ellarose88 for the prompt!**


	10. The Training Fields

_A shield? Where am I supposed to go with a shield?_ Arthur stares at the bed, at the shield laying impertinently on the coverlet, betraying nothing.

_The armory? No, there are knights in there all the time. That would be… inconvenient. No tournament this week. The knights aren't training right now, so the training fields are empty…_

_ …_

_ Surely not._

He hefts the shield from the bed and heads for the training fields, hoping he's wrong.

He's not.

She's waiting for him, dressed in trousers and a tunic, a sword in her hand.

"You tricked me," he says, striding forward.

"I did not," she argues.

"So you didn't lure me down here to teach you how to use a sword?"

"Perhaps a little," she says, raising her sword and walking slowly towards him, swaying her hips seductively. "But I assure you that your efforts will be rewarded," she smiles that smile of hers for him, but points the sword at him as well.

He sighs, looking at her. "You're doing that all wrong," he says, giving in, compelled by the years of instructing prospective knights in proper swordsmanship.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to help yourself," Gwen smiles as he comes around behind her, adjusting her grip, her stance.

He places her hands just so, then slides them along her arms, lifting an elbow here, straightening a wrist there, then moves his hands down, tracing the contours of her body, straightening her hips. He moves a foot beside hers, pressing against her back as he nudges her feet into place.

"Mmm, I hope this isn't how you treat your men," she teases.

"No," he kisses her neck. "I nibble their ears a bit, though, stroke their beards lovingly, that kind of thing," he jokes.

She laughs and drops her arms.

"Guinevere," he chides, raising her arms again.

"You were the one that made me laugh," she protests.

"Now," he says, getting back to business, "I'll show you a few basic moves."

His arms on hers, he guides them, showing them how to wield the sword, thrusting, slicing, sweeping.

"Is this sword too heavy for you?" he asks in her ear. He can feel her muscles straining through her sleeves.

"No. You forget I spent most of my life doing hard work, not lounging around, oh, weaving or doing needlepoint or whatever it is that ladies do before they get married off."

Now he laughs, and his left hand slides down around her waist, giving her a squeeze as he kisses her neck once again.

"Arthur…"

"You know I can't help myself when your hair is out of the way," he nuzzles her neck, kissing it some more.

She reaches up and smacks him on the head with the very braid that is giving him access to her neck. "Back to work, Arthur."

He sighs and releases her waist. Checking her grip once more, he mutters, "You should be wearing gloves."

"I couldn't find any that fit me," she says. "I shall have to make some."

"Have some made, you mean," he corrects her.

She sighs and lets him re-set her, rather enjoying his sure hands roaming her body this way.

"There, now you're ready for battle," he purrs in her ear before removing himself to stand opposite her, drawing his own sword.

"Now what?" she asks, motionless.

He carefully swings his sword towards her, and she instinctively meets it with hers. He does it again, from another angle, and she meets it again. And again. And again.

"Your defense is good," he says.

"You're going easy on me," she remarks.

"You're a beginner. And you're my wife."

"Bah," she says, attempting a thrust of her own, which he parries easily, so easily, in fact, that the sword flies from her grip.

"Bah?" he asks, amused.

She stomps to pick up her sword. "The 'bah' was to the wife comment. I don't want you to go easy on me just because I'm your wife."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Then I will have Elyan train me. Or Gwaine," she challenges, knowing exactly which name to throw into the pot.

"Elyan I would consider, but not Gwaine," he says, motioning with his sword that she should ready her own.

"Oh?" she asks innocently, attacking again.

This time she holds onto her sword when he defends. "Gwaine would neither be a skilled nor a patient teacher," he attempts weakly, going back on the offensive, forcing her into defense again.

"Right, I'm sure that's it," she grins, spinning to avoid him.

He raises his eyebrows. "Nice footwork, Love."

"Thank you." He pursues her again, and she leaps out of the way and to the side, landing behind him and smacking him on the backside with the flat of her blade.

"Hey!" he spins. "You're a fast little thing, you are," he grins.

"Why are you grinning?" she asks, thrusting the blade forward again.

"Because I just found your strength," he dodges her thrust, "something we can build on." He swings his sword in a wide arc and she ducks and sweeps her own sword under his.

"And your weakness," Arthur finishes, grabbing her arm gently as he trips her, insuring that she doesn't fall too hard.

In fact, he falls as well, pulling her down over him, both their swords tossed into the grass.

"And what, pray tell, is my weakness?" she purrs, her face inches from his on the ground.

"You were thinking I was still going to go easy on you," he says, lifting his gloved hand to the back of her head to pull her down to him for a kiss, capturing her lips and persuading them to open immediately, their tongues now thrusting and parrying.

He lifts his hand from her head and peels his gloves off, wanting the leather barrier gone. He worms his hand back into her hair, lacing his fingers into the loose braid at the nape of her neck to hold her head, his other hand roving her back.

Arthur rolls them, covering her body with his, kissing her hungrily, feeling her fingers roam through his hair. He lets her suck at his lips a bit, enjoying the sensation before he trails kisses down her neck to her throat, his hand at her side, thumb reaching up to stroke the side of her breast.

"Arthur…" she says, pressing her head back, tilting her chin to give him easier access, "we're outside, Love."

"I know," he says, kissing a few more times before coming back up to peck her lips softly.

He rolls to his back, pillowing his head with his arm thrown up and bent behind his head, his other arm gathering Guinevere to his side, where she rests her head on his shoulder.

She throws a leg over his and sighs, her fingers toying with the ties hanging from the neck of his shirt.

"I still want you to train me," she says.

"I know. If all your training sessions go as well as this one, I could really get to enjoy this."

"Arthur," she cautions.

"Yes, yes, they can't all deteriorate into snogging," he chuckles. "Only sometimes."

She giggles into his shoulder.

"Oh! Sorry, my lord, my lady, I didn't realize," Leon and Percival have just appeared from around the corner, apparently to do some sparring. Leon backs up, pushing Percival with him, heading away.

The king and queen sit up. "Sir Leon," Arthur calls.

He stops and turns, his face worried. "Sire?"

"It's all right. We're done here. Guinevere wanted me to show her how to properly wield a sword," he says, bending to retrieve their discarded swords, handing hers to her after helping her to her feet. She takes her sword and smiles sheepishly at them.

"We got a bit distracted," Gwen admits.

"Um. Yes. Of course," Leon says. Both knights are blushing and looking anywhere but at Arthur and Gwen.

"The field is yours, men," Arthur says, striding past them, patting Percival on the shoulder as he passes.

As they walk away, Gwen hears Percival say, "I bet she was winning and Arthur decided to try a different tactic."

She snickers to herself and continues away with Arthur.

"You know what, Love?" he says.

"What's that?"

"I think we're both due for a bath," he answers suggestively, grinning down at her.

"Indeed, my lord."

**A/N: Two requests for this one, from LadyOfLegend9 and shaymars.**


	11. The Roof

Guinevere stands, a star cut roughly from parchment clutched in her hand. _Where the devil is this one telling me to go?_

She puzzles over it, remembering Arthur's early departure from dinner just a short time ago. Merlin had come in, muttered something quietly in the king's ear – in his ear furthest from her – and he stood with an "excuse me, please," and left.

_Crafty devil._

She ponders the star, turning it over as if the back of it will reveal its secrets, but of course it is as blank as the front.

_Damn him. I will definitely have to find a way to get even for this one._

_ Okay. Stars. Stars are in the sky, outside. So go outside. But where?_

Sighing, she grabs her cloak and heads out the chamber doors.

She looks right, left, right again. Then left. _Ass._

A glimmer catches her eyes to the far left, and she turns to walk that way.

_What is that?_ She approaches the glimmer, which becomes a glow, concentrated, golden, almost like a…

_…star._

_ Merlin is helping._

_ That's cheating._

She reaches the tiny glowing orb, no bigger than a bumblebee, and when she reaches it, it floats ahead, down the corridor a stretch, then waits patiently for her to follow.

"Very well, then, I will follow," she says aloud, giving chase.

She follows the golden bee through unused corridors, paths she has rarely trodden, up cobwebbed and dusty staircases, up and up and up until she pushes through an old, weathered door and finds herself outside, at the very top of the southeast turret, where the bee explodes into a tiny shower of glittering golden sparks.

"Took you long enough," a familiar baritone voice drawls, and she turns, glaring at him.

"You cheated."

He walks toward her, his face the very picture of innocence. "Me? Cheat? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that there were _rules_ to this little activity."

_Damn him, he's right._ "You had Merlin help you."

"He helped me before as well, and you didn't complain. You're just cross because I stumped you."

She scowls, and he smiles, loving how her face transforms to that of a little girl's when she's frustrated like this.

"I hate it when you're right," she says quietly.

"What was that?" he comes even closer, stalking now.

"You're right," she admits, loud and clear. She places her hands on her hips and stands defiantly before him, challenging him, _daring_ him to try to seduce her now.

"And?" he presses, speaking the single word quietly, a breath in her ear as he circles around her.

"_And_ I couldn't figure out your clue, and that's why I'm cross," she says through clenched teeth.

He reaches up and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, bending to place a soft kiss on the side of her neck, finding the _exact_ spot that makes her mind go blank and her knees go wobbly.

_Damn him, again._

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he purrs, his lips caressing the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Oh, very good," she manages, closing her eyes, her head tilting slightly of its own accord, allowing him better access. "I'm getting lessons in humility from the most arrogant man in the five kingdoms," she says breathily, fighting to keep some sense.

"Guinevere," he breathes, his lips traveling to the swell of her breasts, "shut up." He straightens slightly and kisses her lips, silencing any further protest or remark that she might have wanted to make, his tongue very effectively keeping hers otherwise engaged.

"Oh!" she pulls away and exclaims, punching his arm.

Grinning, he scoops her up and carries her over to where he's spread a thick skin out over the stones of the turret. There are two large pillows there, and she sees that he's brought a few candles up and even two goblets of wine for them.

"Arthur," she sighs, melting in the face of his romantic gesture.

He sets her gently on her feet in the middle of the rug, then pulls her down to lay beside him, tucking her to his side.

They lie together, gazing at the multitudinous stars overhead, the full moon drifting in and out of sight as wispy clouds float past its silver face.

"They're so beautiful, Arthur. The stars. There are so many of them. When I was a girl, I used to try to count them. I would count and count until I ran out of numbers or until my father called me inside."

He smiles. "I never noticed them much when I was younger."

"That's not entirely surprising," she says, her fingers trailing on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the material of his shirt. "What use did the prince, the heir to Camelot's throne, have for simple things like stars?" she asks, but her question is not judging him or meant to criticize.

"I know," he says, almost regretfully, leaning to kiss her. "My priorities were a little out of line for a while," he chuckles. "Luckily the gods sent me you to get me straightened out."

She smiles up at him, and he kisses her again, this time leaning over her, rolling her onto her back, and her hand drifts upward into his hair.

He begins pulling at the laces of her corset, conveniently in the front of this particular gown, and his knuckles bump into hers as she moves her other hand to help.

"Thanks," he mutters, chuckling against her lips.

The outer corset of her gown now gone, he turns her attention to her gown, pulling it this way and that as he continues kissing her, nibbling her neck.

"Arthur, slow down," she gasps, touching his hand with her own, trying to still it.

"I want to see you bathed in moonlight. I want to see your skin glowing under its glow," he says roughly against her breasts.

Gwen worms her way out from underneath him and stands, facing him, looking down at him.

She frees herself of her dress, then her chemise, standing naked in front of him on the roof of the castle, shielded from the world by the walls rising and falling behind her.

_Of course no one would see us up here,_ Arthur absently thinks as he drinks her in with his eyes, consciously reminding himself to breathe. She bends to remove her shoes and stockings.

"Leave them," he whispers, eyes drifting down to her legs, where the soft fawn brown of her thighs meets the creamy ecru of her stockings.

She shrugs and drops gracefully back down beside him, pulling his shirt over his head before she reclines back down against the pillows.

"Beautiful," he says, almost to himself. "Guinevere, you are so beautiful."

He quickly sheds his trousers, and Gwen notices for the first time that he's been barefoot this entire time.

"Come here, Arthur," she coos, holding her arms out to him, and he dives over her, lips hungrily searching hers out, hands greedily roving her velvet skin.

He nudges his knees in between her legs, and she hooks one of her legs around his thigh, caressing it with her stockinged limb.

He moans into her mouth and brings his hand to her breast, teasing it, caressing it. She sighs, pulling her lips away from him, speaking his name ever so softly as his lips travel again, moving down to replace his fingers at her breast. He closes his lips around a stiff nipple and drops his hand down to touch her, finding her warm and slick under his fingers, and a small whimper escapes her lips.

Arthur's hand bumps hers once more as she reaches for him, finding his firm length with her cool fingers, and he smiles and groans against her breast, slipping his fingers into her as he does so.

"Oh…" she gasps, fingers tightening around his shaft reflexively.

"Oh…" he echoes, reacting.

"Now, Arthur, please," she whispers, gently guiding him towards her.

"As you wish, my lady," he says, thrusting forward, entering her swiftly with a soft groan.

She arches her back, pressing her head into the pillows as he moves within her, his manhood sliding deliciously in and out, the sweet friction satisfying yet always making her want more.

He leans back, settling back on his knees, lifting her hips to meet him, and she winds her legs around his waist. Her fingers clutch at the fur of the skin beneath her, and she opens her eyes for a moment to find him watching her, his eyes glazed and dark with passion.

_He said he wanted to see me in the moonlight,_ she thinks, closing her eyes again, a smile creeping about her lips.

He moves faster, harder, and once again any thoughts are driven from her brain.

"Guinevere," he whispers, his voice hoarse, strained. _I'm too close,_ he thinks, _but I cannot stop watching her._

He slips one hand around, reaching with his thumb to pleasure her while he thrusts into her.

"Oh… yes…" she whimpers, her body writhing beneath him now.

With another strangled cry, Arthur drills into her, stilling his hips, his thumb, as he releases into her.

His thumb starts moving first, resuming its motion against the tight slippery bud at the front of her folds. Then slowly, carefully, his hips move again, determined to bring her the pleasure she deserves, the pleasure he always wants her to receive from him.

"Ah… oh… Arthur… Arthur…" she gasps, repeating his name over and over, building in a crescendo until she practically screams it when her climax washes over her.

As soon as she recovers some sense, she starts giggling, realizing that it is quite likely that _someone_ heard her crying out the king's name from the roof of the palace.

"What's so funny?" Arthur asks, his head cradled against her breasts.

"I wonder if anyone heard me," she says, blushing.

"Probably," he laughs. "But let's just hope that your voice didn't reach your brother's ears."

**Thanks go to GorgeousAngel aka Angelymygirl and fdarcy for the rooftop idea!**


	12. The Archives

_Medicinal Plants and Where to Find Them._

That is the book Guinevere has left on the bed for Arthur to find.

_Bloody hell, she's crafty. The archives? The garden?_ He picks it up. It is heavy, and he can see the marks where she's wiped away a layer of dust before setting it on the bed.

_Probably the archives. If she meant the garden she would have left a real flower, probably. Lavender, most likely._

Hefting the book under his arm, he stalks from the room, heading down to the archives. Merlin intercepts him in the corridor.

"Arthur," he calls, "I need you to—"

"Merlin, I am busy," he cuts him off. Merlin sees the book under his arm.

"Where are you going with that?"

"I thought I'd take it to the stables. My horse wants to read up on the medicinal benefits of his oats," Arthur answers sarcastically.

"Right. Is that from…?"

"Yes. So I'm busy," he says, looking pointedly at Merlin.

"Right. Um…"

"_What?_"

"Do you know where, exactly?"

"I'll find her."

"Yeah, good luck," he says, walking away, laughing quietly to himself. _Man has spent less time in the Archives than I have in armor._

"I'll ask Geoffrey where it goes," Arthur calls after him.

"Geoffrey's gone home for the day. She sent him home an hour ago," Merlin yells back, laughing.

Arthur stops walking. _Bugger._

_ Okay, then. The hunt is on._

_ She's making me pay for the last one. She knows I never go down there._

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good," Arthur says, relieved.

"But she told me not to."

"What?"

"She said, and I quote, 'Don't you dare help him.' And frankly, she scares me more than you do."

Arthur fumes silently, frustrated and… _frustrated._ As soon as he saw there was something on the bed, the blood started flowing downward, and while he's flummoxed at the challenge, he's aroused enough (though not yet visibly) to press on.

"Figures," he mutters, stomping off again, cursing Merlin under his breath as he hears his trusted advisor laughing again.

_Ha. Trusted advisor. Turncoat, that's what he is._

_ Oh, who am I kidding? She has all of us wrapped around her little finger, and we're all quite happy to be there._

_ Now focus. I'm guessing that she'll be where this book belongs. How hard can that be? The archives aren't_ that _big._

_ Are they?_

He pushes the door open, grabs a torch, and wanders in.

_Bugger._ "Guinevere?" he calls softly, knowing full well that she is not going to answer him.

The light is dim, the air is cool, and it smells slightly musty. He walks slowly amid the rows and rows of books, peering down the aisles, looking for a glimpse of her, listening for any sound she might be making.

It is as silent as a tomb.

_Bloody hell, why do we have so many books? Surely there can't be that much information that needs to be written down. Some of these have to be duplicates. I'm sure that's it._

"Guinevere?" he tries again, swishing his torch to the right, looking down that aisle, then to the left.

He sighs, and keeps walking. Then he hears it.

_Flip._ The papery sound of a page being turned.

_Aha._

_ Flip._

He follows the sound, a slow smile spreading across his face as he hears it getting louder.

_Flip._

He looks to the left, and there at the end of an aisle, is Guinevere, perched on a table, a large volume across her knees.

Arthur approaches her, and she continues to peruse the book, not looking up. He's not sure she notices his approach, but then suddenly she speaks.

"Did you know that lavender can be used to treat exhaustion, headaches, insomnia, and nervousness?"

"Um, no," he answers blankly, setting his torch in a holder on a nearby shelf.

"Yes. Oh, and it says here that it can also help with poor digestion, upset stomach, and flatulence."

"Charming."

Guinevere chuckles and finally looks up at him. "I've had a lot of time to read, waiting for you, you know." She closes the book with a _thud_, hops down from the table, and re-shelves it.

"Where does this one go?" he asks, holding out his book.

"There," she points up to the top shelf.

He looks around for the ladder, and pulls it into place. He climbs up and put the book back in a gap he sees, then looks down at her, her little face raised, watching him.

"Are you looking at my backside?" he asks.

"I am now," she grins.

He climbs slowly down, and turns to her. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you, my love?"

"Perhaps."

"This is revenge for the roof, isn't it?" he takes a step closer to her, backing her up against the table on which she had been sitting.

"Perhaps."

"And you sent Geoffrey home, I understand," he grins at her now.

"Indeed."

He picks her up and sits her on the edge of the table, his hands lingering at her sides as he leans forward and places a kiss on her neck, then another, and another. Her head falls back at his attention and her hands reach down to pull up her skirt slightly. She reaches out with her feet and grabs him with her legs, pulling him close.

"Minx," he mutters into her neck, moving down to her breasts, his strong arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

She lifts her skirt higher still, the silken material sliding easily as she bunches it in her hands.

"Kiss me, Arthur," she whispers, reaching for his face to bring it to hers. She guides his lips to hers, her fingers gentle but firm, her thumbs stroking lightly at his cheeks as their lips connect, softly at first, then with increasing passion as his tongue snakes into her waiting mouth, hungry and searching.

Gwen's fingers trace his jaw and caress his earlobes before one threads into his hair while the other grips his shoulder, the muscles firm and thick beneath her hand. Her legs wind around his waist again, linking her feet behind him.

Arthur slips a hand down to her half-raised skirt and creeps underneath it, feeling her thigh under his palm, soft yet firm, her skin like luxurious velvet.

"Guinevere you have nothing on under this gown," he pulls away and says, surprised.

"Is that a problem?" she asks innocently, pulling the ties of his trousers as she does so.

"No-Oh!" he says, his voice rising as her hand slips into his trousers, finding him stiff and ready.

She chuckles at him again, sliding her hand on him a few times before reaching around to squeeze his backside momentarily, finding the muscle there as firm and delicious as the rest of him. He feathers kisses on the tops of her breasts as she withdraws him from his trousers, dragging her fingers lightly along the length of his shaft.

He gasps at the soft touch, reflexively jerking away, but her legs are still around him, holding him fast.

"You're trapped, my king," she says as he nibbles her neck, sending delicious shivers down to her belly.

"I am a willing captive," he mutters against her skin, his hand slipping further up her thigh, pushing at her skirt with both hands now, growing impatient.

He pulls her closer to the edge of the table, so she has to hang on to him or she'll fall off. His knuckles brush the coarse curls at the apex of her thighs, making her gasp at the slight touch. He turns his hand, pressing it against her warmth, the moisture from her arousal slick on his palm.

"Touch me, Arthur," she gasps, "please."

Arthur obliges, moving his fingers to stroke her, tormenting her by being gentle and slow, lazily dragging his finger back and forth, smiling as he draws a low moan from the back of her throat.

Gwen reaches for him, carefully pulling his manhood towards her. Carefully but insistently. Bending his knees slightly, he removes his hand from her and replaces it with his erect member, sliding easily inside with a satisfied groan.

"Oh…" she moans, her head falling back again, leaning back slightly as he holds her, teetering on the edge of the table.

Arthur begins thrusting, slow at first, but he quickly increases his speed, spurred on by Gwen's moans and cries.

"Guinevere…" he gasps, "you are so… beautiful… when we're…" He isn't able to finish his thought because the small table, old and brittle with age and its life in the cool dryness of the archives, suddenly creaks and breaks under their assault, tumbling them both to the floor.

"Oh!" Gwen exclaims as she finds herself pinned between her husband and a broken table, Arthur still sheathed within her. The few books that were on the table are scattered around them and dust is flying everywhere.

"Guinevere, are you all right?" he asks, eyes wide, worried that he's hurt her.

"Yes," she laughs, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. "Don't stop," she breathes in his ear before running her delicate pink tongue along its outer shell and sucking his earlobe into her mouth, lightly biting it.

"Oh, you…" he growls, resuming his thrusts, kissing her greedily. His hand finds a breast and squeezes, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb finding her stiff nipple through the material of her dress and starts rubbing small circles over it.

"Oh… Arth… yes…" she is gasping, repeating small sounds and half-formed words, her small body writhing amongst the rubble and tumbled books, hair coming loose from its carefully-arranged style, her beautiful gown becoming rumpled and creased.

Arthur loves watching her unravel like this and finds himself speeding his movements, pushing them both to the brink. He keeps his eyes locked on her, fascinated as always with her beauty in arousal, unconsciously saying a prayer of thanks to whichever god it was that granted her to him. His limbs grow heavy. He feels as there is hot honey flowing through his veins, a molten sensation that starts where they are joined and spreads out to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

Just when he can't contain it any more, Gwen cries out his name, clutching his shoulders, her body quivering beneath him, and he releases his seed into her, that molten honey bursting forth with a low groan.

She wraps him in her arms, holding him against her, his head on her chest, waiting while their breathing returns to normal.

"You're okay? Not hurt?" Arthur asks, sliding gently from her, adjusting his trousers and helping her to stand.

"I might have a bruise on my bum tomorrow, but I think I'm fine, Love," she smiles at him.

He pulls her into his arms, kissing her ardently for a few moments, almost as if the last half hour hadn't happened.

"Arthur," she says, pulling gently away. "We should clean this up."

"Merlin can take care of it."

**Thanks to a lot of people for this prompt, it was another popular one: larasmith, shaymars, fdarcy, dowadeedee, somegirlinthisworld, Julyna.**


	13. The Arena

"Arthur, Leon is looking for you. He needs…" Gwen looks around the royal bedchamber, finding it empty.

_I could have sworn he was in here. I just saw…_ Her eyes cast around the room and settle on the bed.

_Aha. So that's where he is._ She walks over, picks up the banner, and carries it from the room.

"My lady, did you find him?" Leon calls after her, seeing her striding purposefully down the corridor, carrying something red in her arms. He jogs the short distance and catches her up easily on his long legs.

"Not yet, but I know where he is. I will send him as soon as he is available," she says, barely glancing at him.

"Oh, well, I'll just accompany you," he says.

"Um, no, that's quite all right. I don't know long he'll be detained, honestly," she says. _I like you, Leon, but not that way. Plus I don't think Arthur's interests lean that way._

"That's really all right, I'm kind of at a stand-still until I find him anyway," he says, shrugging.

She sees Merlin approaching and gives him a pointed look, shifting the banner in her arms so he sees it. _Help me._

Merlin smirks and picks up his pace. "Ah, Sir Leon, just the man I was looking for," he says, approaching them. "There is a minor… issue in the armory. I think some items might be missing."

_Merlin, you are a bloody genius,_ Gwen thinks.

"What? Oh, no, we can't have that! Excuse me, my lady, but I must see to this matter at once," Leon says, nodding respectfully to her as he joins Merlin.

Merlin glances back at Gwen, and she blows him a kiss. He grins and blushes faintly before turning his attention back to Leon.

xXx

She finds Arthur in the royal box in the jousting arena, sitting casually in the king's chair, one leg hooked over the arm in what seems to be his favorite pose.

"We almost had a third," she says, laughing as she tosses the banner on the queen's chair.

His eyebrows go up. "Oh, really? Some saucy little maidservant? A beautiful but bored courtier, perhaps?"

"Sir Leon."

Arthur's grin and eyebrows both drop abruptly. Gwen moves closer, and he brings his leg down from the arm so she can climb into his lap.

"He's actually looking for you," she adds, kissing the end of his nose.

"How did you shake him off?" Arthur leans in and kisses the pulse point on the side of her neck.

"Merlin helped. Made up some story about items missing from…" she pauses a minute as his lips trailing wet fire on her neck momentarily distract her, "from the armory."

Arthur chuckles against her, "Good call, Merlin. Leon does love few things more than weaponry."

"I know," she says, smiling as his arms wrap tighter around her. "We need to find him a wife. Soon."

"Or at least a little bit of crumpet to put his mind on other things," Arthur says, his lips making their way to her breasts.

"Arthur! That's terrible!" she laughs again. "Though probably true," she muses.

"I don't want to talk about Leon anymore," he says, lifting his head for a moment to look up into her soft brown eyes.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asks coyly.

"Jousting, of course," he motions to the arena below them.

"Oh, of course," she says, looking out over the long oval. Little dust clouds float up here and there where the breeze catches the dirt. The late afternoon sun is sinking lower, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, giving everything a rosy glow.

He shifts her on his lap so that she is straddling him, the wide seat of the king's chair providing more than enough room for her knees to fit on either side of his thighs.

"Are you my stallion?" she asks, her voice dropping low and sultry.

"Indeed, my lady. Ready at your command with my lance," he says against her lips, kissing her with his words as he pulls her even closer into his lap.

"Yes, I see," she says between kisses. "Or rather, I feel." She moves her hips, pushing against his groin.

He groans and drops his head back for just a moment, his hands now creeping below her skirts, groping for her hips.

"Your armor is not very strong," he remarks, dropping kisses on the exposed tops of her breasts as his hands find bare skin above her stockings and slide higher, gripping her backside.

"I wasn't aware that I needed much armor for this kind of joust, my lord," she answers breathily.

"The less the better, actually," he agrees. "Might I suggest you… take up your lance, my lady?"

"Take it up where, exactly?" she teases, unable to help herself.

Arthur drops his head against her chest, laughing now. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

"Directly and with great strides, Arthur," she says, lifting his head to place a searing kiss on his lips, her tongue snaking in to seduce his, coax it forth into her mouth. Her hands drop to his waist and she blindly pulls at the ties of his trousers.

They open easily, her practiced hands needing little guidance. She reaches her hand slowly inside the opening, wrapping her fingers around him.

He grunts and moves his hands, pulling at her skirts, freeing them so that they are no longer tucked between them. His one hand slips underneath again, this time in front, where his fingers trail up her inner thigh until he reaches her center, warm and wet, the coarse curls there familiar against his knuckles.

She cries out softly as he touches her intimately, sliding back and forth, circling around, slipping inside. Gwen works his manhood out of his trousers, stroking him as she does so, enjoying the feel of him in her hand, thick and firm.

"The lance is at the ready, my lord," she whispers into his ear, licking it, nibbling.

"The target is set," he confirms hoarsely, removing his hand to guide her hips to him as she guides his shaft to her.

She spears herself on him, the ring snagged by the lance, and she moans as he pushes upward, settling deep within her. "Oh…" she sighs, rocking her hips as he moves his, pushing against the chair, using it as leverage as she rides him, his hands still on her hips beneath her skirt, her hands in his hair, his face buried in her cleavage.

The breeze picks up, blowing the loose tendrils of Guinevere's hair from her neck, cooling the small places left wet by Arthur's kisses, and she shivers slightly. They simultaneously speed up, spurred on by their mounting passion and need, and Gwen clutches Arthur's shoulders, gripping his leather vest in both hands, holding them almost like reins.

Arthur lifts his head and gazes up at her, his beautiful queen rendered even more beautiful by her desire. She opens her eyes and catches him watching her, so she boldly watches him back, drinking in his passion-dark eyes, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, his full, parted lips.

_He is beautiful,_ she thinks, and leans down to kiss him. Slowly, deeply, luxuriously, until Gwen tears her lips from his, crying out as her climax comes upon her, throwing her head back and sending her limbs tingling.

Moments later Arthur's breathing speeds up and deepens and he shouts out his own release, moving his arms up and clamping his arms around her waist tightly. He presses his face into her chest again and sighs a heavy, satisfied sigh.

xXx

Gwen and Arthur find Leon outside the armory, going over an inventory list with Merlin and Gwaine.

Gwaine is the first to notice the king and queen approaching, and he grins and nudges Leon.

"Ah, thank you, my lady. Sire," he nods to Arthur.

Merlin's eyes meet Gwen's for a fleeting moment, and Merlin is about to look away, slightly embarrassed to be continually and unwittingly embroiled in their little game, but then his eyebrows raise slightly and he lifts a hand to his hair, smoothing it.

Gwen gets the message and follows suit, finding the comb she had tucked there earlier askew. As she adjusts it, Gwaine suddenly seems to choke on something and falls to a fit of coughing, turning away slightly.

Leon absently pounds the other knight's back as he chats with Arthur, wondering what Gwaine's problem could possibly be.

"…So, my lord, the men will need your instruction on unarmed combat. Percival is very skilled, but he doesn't have the, um, flair for explanation that you do," he finishes, frowning at his quiet friend's failed attempt at instruction.

"He'll get there, Leon. I'll work with him on that as well as with the men. What is it?" Arthur suddenly asks, seeing Leon's eyes wandering towards the side of his head.

"Oh… nothing sir, nothing," Leon lies, pretending that he hasn't just noticed a lock of hair sticking straight out from the side of the king's suspiciously over-tousled hair or the queen's slight glowing rosy sheen.

Gwaine simply turns and walks away.

**Thanks to SherryLynne and PrincessJennifer for the location, and thanks also go to faithlessducks for suggesting the usage of the jousting metaphors!**


End file.
